


the epic highs and lows of living room yoga

by Adamarks



Category: Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M, Windows - Freeform, Yeah sure fluff, Yoga, does this count as my paperman au?, fluff...?, paper airplanes, quarantine fic, silliness, yes why not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:48:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24264619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adamarks/pseuds/Adamarks
Summary: Simon’s losing his mind during quarantine, and for some reason watching his fit neighbour across the way do yoga has become a relaxing pastime.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 16
Kudos: 139





	the epic highs and lows of living room yoga

**Author's Note:**

> Y’all ever seen paperman? What if you sucked out all the romance and mystical shit and just had like. Airplanes.

Is this creepy? Absolutely. But you know what? The world’s gone to utter shit, and if I want to watch my hot neighbor do some yoga because he never closes his bloody curtains, then I’m going to. It’s not like I’m over here having a wank to him anyway. I’m enjoying the view, or something. 

Hell, I sound like a dirty old man. 

I haven’t been meaningfully out of my flat in weeks. Yesterday, I threw on a mask that didn't fit and got some takeaway just to feel alive. I’ve gone almost completely mute, too. My days have been filled with meandering my flat in complete silence and staring dead-eyed at the telly. 

I lean back and sip a cuppa as he does downward facing dog. He’s been getting progressively better as the weeks blend together. The other day he managed a headstand and I’d actually clapped. Watching him has become my high-stakes daily sports entertainment. 

He lowers down to his knees and then to his forearms. Is he going to go into that kowtow-y pose already? Seems a bit early in the game for that. 

Next thing I know, both legs are flying off the mat and over his head. He struggles to get them to point towards the ceiling. He gets his balance, his face a bit red. 

I watch in awe as his legs bend until they look like a scorpion’s stinger poised over his head, ready to attack. I hold my breath as he breathes deep, once, twice. He got himself up there, but can he get himself down?

Shakily, he straightens his legs one at a time. He goes to bring them down and wobbles dangerously. 

“Come on, mate,” I mumble encouragingly, as if he can hear me. 

Slowly, one leg lowers to the ground, then the other. His knees touch down, and he immediately melts back into the kowtow pose. His back lifts as he breathes heavily. 

“Yes!” I scream, like this is the most riveting sport to ever be televised. I jump up, accidentally spilling hot tea on myself. “Ow, fuck me.” 

I set down my cup and run to the window and start knocking on it. When he doesn’t hear me, I shove it up and stick my torso out, waving like a loon. 

“Oy, mate! That was amazing just now!” He doesn’t notice me, just rolls onto his back and lifts a leg up to his chest. 

“Shit,” I mutter and look around. My eye catches on the playboy magazine sitting open on my coffee table. 

_ That’ll work.  _ I snatch it up and rip out a page and wad it up. 

I chuck the paper wad at his window. A gust of wind swoops in and carries it off course. I rip out another page and try again. 

Same results. 

I grumble and lean back into my flat. My head smacks against the lip of the window on my way in. 

_ How else can I do this?  _

I rip out a page and make a paper airplane. Then I make another one, just in case. 

And one more, for good luck. 

I shove myself back out the window and rear back with my first plane. A nipple sits proudly on the wing. I launch it, eyeing my neighbour’s window pane. It starts to soar, right on course, and then—

It immediately swan dives. I threw it too hard.

Okay, well, that was only the first try. Two more chances. 

Airplane two gets a gentler treatment, plus one eye squeezed shut for aim. It glides beautifully, soaring right into—

The brick wall  _ next  _ to the window. “Fuck  _ sake,”  _ I grumble, picking up the last plane. The  _ good luck _ plane that’s brought me  _ no  _ luck thus far. 

I drag a hand through my hair and glare at the good luck plane. The man next door is doing the lying-down nap part of his routine. 

_ Don’t fuck this up,  _ I think at the plane. It flies out of my hand, right on course, heading straight for the window pane. 

Until, in an eleventh hour twist, a huge gust of wind rips it from its destination and carries it away. 

I grip my hair, shout something. How did  _ three out of three  _ fail? Am I fucking  _ cursed? _ I snatch up the magazine and hurl it as hard as I can at his window. 

Of course, that hits. 

He sits up, startled, and comes to the window. I wave frantically for him to open it up. He looks wary, but still concedes. (Thank Christ.)

As soon as his window’s up, I start yelling, “Oy mate! That was brilliant— with your legs over your head just now— it was touch-and-go, but you really did it—“

He looks more alarmed with each word, and I realise with dawning horror that I’m admitting to creeping on him. 

“And I’ve never seen you do it before—“  _ SHUT THE FUCK UP!—  _ “so I wanted to tell you it was— cool— wicked. Good.”  _ Fucking hell. _

He snarls at me, “Do you often make it a habit to watch your neighbours during their daily exercise?”

“Ah-um-no-I— just you—” 

“Try getting an onlyfans account instead instead of spying on unwitting individuals next time,” he snaps. 

My gut sinks. “No, I—“

He slams his window shut and viciously pulls the curtain closed. 

_ Oops. _

-

His curtains have been drawn for a week straight. I’ve had a piece of paper with “IM SORRY” on it taped to my windowpane for just as long. 

I feel like shite about the whole thing. It was really just like watching football. I never wanked to him while he was doing it— I just thought he was fun to watch. He always looks so concentrated, and he’s really strong— he has to be to do some of those poses. 

I stare sadly at his darkened window. I just want to apologise. It was never my intention to make him feel unsafe in his own home. 

I go to the kitchen and start making myself a cuppa. He can’t keep his curtains shut forever.  _ Stubborn bastard. _ He’ll have to open them and see my apology  _ eventually.  _ (Whether he likes it or not.)

I toss my teabag in the bin and go back to my seat by the window. I still sit here at the same time everyday. (Except now I stare sadly at a curtain, instead of watching something oddly exciting.) 

I take a sip and settle in. I look to the handsome neighbor’s window out of habit. 

“FUCK OFF” is sprawled on a sheet of paper taped to the window. (The curtain is still closed.) 

I squawk indignantly and stumble to find a new piece of paper and a pen. 

“I NEVER WANKED WHILE WATCHING YOU” 

I slam the paper to the window.

“STOP BEING A PRICK”

I stick that sign under the first one. 

See how he likes that.

-

“DEFENSIVE.” 

I stare at the sign in shock.  _ I didn’t.  _ I never wanked to him while he was doing yoga. I mean, there was the one time when I was having a go and his arse in yoga pants popped into my head. But that wasn’t  _ when  _ I was watching him. It’s  _ completely  _ different. I can’t help that he’s so fit. I felt guilty afterwards anyway. 

“THERES NO FOOTBALL ON ANYMORE”

Surely, that will explain. 

-

“STUNNING DEDUCTION.”

-

“I MEAN IT WAS LIKE WATCHING SPORTS”

-

“YOU’RE INSANE.”

-

“YOURE REALLY GOOD THO. IT WAS COOL TO WATCH.”

-

“SO GLAD TO BE A SOURCE OF ENTERTAINMENT FOR YOU DURING THESE TRYING TIMES.” 

-

“LOL YOU REALLY ARE WICKED STRONG N FLEXIBLE” 

-

“ PLEASE BUGGER OFF.”

-

We’ve been writing window messages for the past two weeks. Every morning I run to the window to see what he’s said after I went to sleep. Sometimes we’ll sit in front of our windows and write our messages like in that Taylor Swift music video. 

It’s usually a bit too hard to scream at each other across the way for an extended period of time, but we’ve done it a few times. (I smile just thinking about it.) 

(He hasn’t restarted doing yoga in front of the window.) (Even though I keep asking.)

I like what we have, but I’m getting sick of the inconvenience of it all. I rarely use it (except to call Penny), but I  _ do  _ have a phone. I’d like to hear what his voice is like when he isn’t shouting.

“WHATS UR NUMBER”

He won’t be up for a while yet, but I throw it up anyway. I quickly scribble out a “GOOD MORNING :)” too before I go make breakfast.

-

An hour later:

“I’M NOT PLASTERING MY PHONE NUMBER TO THE WINDOW FOR THE WHOLE WORLD, SNOW.” 

_ Hmmm, he has a point.  _ I rip off my good morning note and fold it into an airplane. 

It sails across the way and hits the brick wall. 

“Fuck sake,” I grumble. Talk about deja vu. 

I fold up the other sign and throw it— this one hits the glass  _ (yes!)  _ and I wait patiently for him to come to the window.

-

When five minutes pass with no sign of Baz I get fed up. I grab a coffee table book I’ll never read— Penelope gave it to me as a flat-warming gift. It’s a big hardcover on Diana Ross. (I have no idea why she bought it. I have no idea why I kept it.) 

I fling it frisbee-style at Baz’s window. 

It hits. 

It shatters the bloody thing. 

I bring my hands to my face.  _ Oh my god, Baz is going to kill me. He’s going to break quarantine and murder me.  _

Well, getting to interact with Baz before I die wouldn’t be  _ that  _ bad—

It doesn’t take Baz long to come to the window this time. 

“What the  _ fuck,  _ Snow?” He screams through the hole in his window. He’s  _ pissed.  _ (It’s kinda hot.)

“I didn’t think it would break it!” I scream back.

“You’re lucky if you can think an inch past your nose.”

“Piss off.”

He glances down, then back to me. “What was so important that you felt the need to have Diana Ross make a forced entry?”

I bite my lip. I made a bit of an ass of myself, didn’t I? 

“Your number?” 

Baz’s eyebrows drop and his mouth opens. I watch his chest expand. 

I steel myself for a verbal tirade.

-

I got his number, eventually. 

-

We’re going on a date as soon as quarantine is over. 

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Y’all I miss going places. Seeing ppl. Doing job. Hope you guys are fairing well 💜


End file.
